


Mornings Like These

by ingafterdark (ingthing)



Category: Of Sense and Soul, Original Work
Genre: Blow Jobs, Don't worry they brush their teeth!, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Maybe gratuitously Victorian, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26027335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingthing/pseuds/ingafterdark
Summary: Upon waking especially early one spring morning, Seamus and Hugo enjoy a romp between the sheets.
Relationships: Hugo E. Brooks/Seamus G. Charkham
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Mornings Like These

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't technically count as canon because I'm not the writer, but she approves, so I'm not sure what to make of it. 
> 
> I do know I enjoyed dropping my Victoriana knowledge everywhere, though. 
> 
> Enjoy the smut!

A curtain was pulled back, and there was the early sunlight again—a dull glow from behind Seamus' eyelids. He'd never been a morning person and was accustomed to staving off wake-up calls till he had no choice but to rise for the day. 

Recently he'd been more amiable to the idea of waking (though not without some grumbling) and the sinking of the mattress beside Seamus reminded him why. There was the weight of this love of his and whom he shared it with. Seamus turned over, eyes still closed, and nosed against Hugo's hip where he knew it would be next to his pillow. Once his arm was recklessly draped over Hugo's lap, Seamus gave a contented sigh.

"I take it you're awake," Hugo said, that wonderful sleep-roughness of his coming from above. An affirmative hum, Seamus thought, was a suitable enough reply.

Not all mornings began like this, not with the soft, crisp turning of pages from the book on Hugo's lap nor the twitter of birds from the trees outside. But it was nice, in a way, that not all mornings had such a perfect start because it made mornings like these all the better. 

And the sheer comfort of it, the gentle rub of sheets on legs bared by the nightshirt that had been rucked up to Seamus' hips in his sleep, added yet another edge. That was the hazard of lazy mornings such as these, when their lack of plans for the day led his mind down the path of sloth and indulgence.

As one leg joined his arm in a half-bodied embrace, Seamus thought he might not mind indulging. There was a buzz—a sort of restlessness in him—urging him to cling, to  _ touch _ . His thigh already rested along Hugo's shin, and it took little effort to bring Seamus' body flush to his side. Even that simple contact made interest stir in Seamus' belly; a low, impatient noise rose unbidden from his throat to accompany the slight shift of his hips and stiffening prick. That did feel good… 

The turning of pages paused, and Seamus opened his eyes to see the other man closing the book in his lap. Hugo's expression was one of mild surprise, one that might be considered too mild for someone who had noticed a grown man was rutting against his leg. It was made even softer by the absence of his spectacles. Seamus felt a twinge of sheepishness, but nothing that would compel him to let go of the limb entirely.

"My dear," Hugo asked lightly, one hand reaching down to sweep the errant strands of hair on Seamus' forehead to the side, "would you prefer the maid bring up cold water instead of hot for your wash this morning?" 

Seamus grimaced at the thought. "A cold wash in the middle of March?"

"You do seem quite feverish," Hugo remarked. His fingers slid into Seamus' mussed auburn locks, and a coy smile began to curve his lips. "Or is there, perhaps, something else we could do about your situation?"

The twinkle in Hugo's eye was answer enough. By the time he had placed the book safely on the chair next to his side of the bed, Seamus had scrambled up to hug his arms around Hugo's neck. Hugo laughed softly and leaned back against the headboard, letting Seamus rest on him. Face tucked into Hugo's collar, Seamus inhaled the scent of him. Warmth: the fragrance of hair oil, Hugo's familiar musk, and the not unwelcome addition of camphor, which made Seamus sit back with a start. 

"You've brushed your teeth already. Let me—" 

He got out of bed with only the barest shiver, the cold air overridden by his haste; it was an effort to reach the wash stand and not spill the little ceramic jar of tooth powder. A quick brush and rinse later, Seamus turned to return to the bed. Hugo had been patiently watching on with an odd, fond look, and he smiled as he met Seamus' gaze. Seamus couldn't help but smile back as he climbed up, not onto the mattress, but into his lover's lap and receptive arms. 

The blankets had been tossed aside, leaving just the cotton twill of their nightshirts between them, and even that didn't make much of a difference. Hiked up as Seamus' garment was, he could feel the bulk and heat of Hugo's thighs under his bare buttocks, even through the fabric.  _ That _ , along with the feel of Hugo's hands on his flanks, was inspiring indeed—Seamus hummed his approval as he pulled Hugo in by the nape to kiss him. 

What a beautiful morning this truly was; the quiet was punctuated by nothing but the heave of their breaths and musicality of their mouths sliding together. Not artful, no, but warming and completely theirs to share. To know the ebb and flow of this kiss, the way the wet back-and-forth of it had desire pooling in his groin, brought Seamus such joy. 

There was a time when he didn't think it possible for their relationship to build in this way, when he cursed his mind for plying him with fantasies that he thought would stay just that: fantasy. But now, in the flesh, Seamus felt free to tangle his fingers through Hugo's dark hair, feel the softness of his beard on his own stubbled cheek, and roll his body against Hugo's without caring what he sounded like—no longer afraid to exhibit the wantonness his lover sparked.

Seamus felt free, because he was rutting against Hugo and Hugo  _ liked _ it. And Seamus knew, by the groan a particularly pointed grind of his hips prompted, Hugo loved it, loved this, loved him. 

Even the cotton of their shirts was too hot now, and Seamus undid the few buttons down the front of Hugo's top. He spread the two sides apart to reveal the lovely rise and fall of his chest, covered in fine dark curls and framed by strong, broad shoulders. Seamus allowed himself only a moment to admire the sight before canting forward to lay kiss after kiss on that newly exposed skin. Hugo lifted his chin with a pleased sigh at this, and his hands moved under the hem of Seamus' shirt to skate up the thighs splayed over Hugo's own. When his fingers reached the swell of Seamus' arse, Seamus pressed back into the touch— _ yes, yes _ —and Hugo anchored his palms there, squeezing  _ just _ so to make Seamus gasp. 

Their hips were pressed together now, hard-ons rubbing against one another with tantalising friction as Hugo's hands suggested a rhythm Seamus was all too keen to continue. But first, their shirts—he sat up to remove his own first, tossing it to the side, before lifting himself from Hugo's lap just long enough to allow Hugo to take his off. And then they were bare, all gloriously flushed, sweat and passion tingeing the air. 

Hugo scanned Seamus' body. He loved the graceful hills and valleys of Seamus' muscles, the constellation of freckles across his shoulders, and the pink of his nipples set on the backdrop of his pale, auburn-dusted skin. "Just stunning," Hugo murmured, and Seamus flushed, his prick letting out a little drop of precome at the praise. (Hugo ought to compliment him more often.)

He looked up to find a mix of emotions on Seamus' face—arousal, yes, but bashfulness too, which always manifested with a furrowed brow and a tenseness at the very corners of his mouth. Despite all the man's charm and confidence, there would always be a part of him that needed to be told both were warranted. 

It was one thing, Hugo knew, to be aware of a fact as simple as being loved and another entirely to be told so, and yet another to be reminded of it time and time again. And then, when bared in both body and soul… Hugo took Seamus' head in his hands, drawing him close and smoothing a thumb across the high point of his cheek before joining their lips tenderly. Sometimes, it truly was a matter of showing rather than telling.

Seamus' hands splayed across Hugo's shoulders as the languid kiss turned urgent. Skin pressed against skin, the hot slide of their cocks in the space between them—Hugo filled his hands with all he could hold of Seamus, his back, his waist, his arse, until the moans in his ears took on an edge of frustration. Nothing made Hugo harder than Seamus' eager cries, and he wanted to elicit more.

The unobtrusive little bottle they kept near the bed for times like these required only a light stretch to reach, even as tangled as they were. Hugo poured sweet oil into his palm as Seamus watched and bit his lip in anticipation. 

The oil coated Hugo's hand and then some—the excess dripped onto their laps. But the mess was the least of their concerns; Hugo took both of their lengths in hand and was gratified by Seamus' resulting groan. The slick ease of fucking into Hugo's grip against the iron-bar hardness of Hugo's own cock did Seamus' head in better than any wine could. This was an intoxication Seamus gladly gave himself to, and he dropped his forehead to Hugo's shoulder with a curse as Hugo's fingers tightened, rubbing against the sensitive head of his cock. Seamus chased that sensation with renewed energy, his breaths turning as short and erratic as the rolling of his hips. 

When Hugo fell out of his own lubricated grasp, Seamus had enough mind to look up in pause—but not for long. As quickly as he had slipped, Hugo was stroking Seamus' cock, craning his head forward to plant a kiss to the corner of Seamus' mouth before sitting back to unravel him completely. The heat of Hugo's lidded gaze was on Seamus, and Seamus knew how obscene he must look. The image of the sheen of sweat and oil on his skin and the dripping, swollen tip of his cock peeking out through the tunnel of Hugo's thick fingers again and again only fuelled his arousal further. The wet sounds of their coupling and Seamus' own panting filled his ears, and he closed his eyes to submerge himself in it.

Beyond pure sensation, beyond the hedonism of this, it was Hugo's single-mindedness in pleasuring him that was most thrilling. Seamus would never have guessed that under the man's demure façade lay such ardour or hunger—or such resourcefulness. He remembered every precise motion that brought Seamus to ruin and applied his learnings with a vengeance. It was in the occasional twist of his grip, or the pass of his thumb over the tip. Seamus' thighs shook with exertion and he devoted his energy to holding himself up instead, clinging to Hugo and simply  _ feeling _ as he pressed blunt fingernails into Hugo's back.

The sudden squeezing of one buttock added a delicious stretch that made Seamus cry out. It didn't require much coaxing to make him shudder with release, and he spent onto Hugo's belly and fist with a grunt as Hugo jerked him through to the last pulse.

When the press of his forehead to Hugo's shoulder became too warm to bear and the soothing up-and-down brush of Hugo's hand along his back became a more distinct motion, Seamus eased himself up. There was a strange little grin on Hugo's face, and it crinkled the edges of his eyes with pride. Though Seamus raised a brow at the latter, he had to admit it wasn't undeserved—and he did love to see Hugo so buoyant. 

It was an easy decision, then, to kiss that smile. The easy part of Hugo's lips to receive him and the simple delight of kissing made cutting it short difficult, but Seamus pulled away. 

Hugo frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but Seamus interrupted his thoughts by reaching up to give Hugo's nose a good pinch. It may have been a touch harder than intended—Hugo spluttered, his face scrunching, and his hand flew up to soothe his reddened nose. 

"What–" Hugo blurted, but the sight before him made him pause. Seamus had slinked downwards to lie between Hugo's legs, and he'd propped his chin up in his hands to highlight his exceedingly mischievous smile.

"What indeed?" Seamus echoed, his eyes flicking down to Hugo's neglected erection for a mere moment, then up to meet his gaze. He blinked at Hugo through his lashes in a fashion that might have been innocent in any other context, and Hugo's breath caught. His legs fell open to grant Seamus better access, and Seamus laughed as he positioned himself more comfortably.

Laid open above Seamus and flushed all over, Hugo was irresistible. Though he'd wiped his hand clean on his discarded nightshirt, some of Seamus' seed still sat on his belly, caught by the dark hairs there and glistening shamelessly. Though Seamus was spent, a fresh warmth spread through him at the sight and he leaned in to lick the evidence away. The remnants of oil on Hugo's hard-on made the glide easy when he began to palm it, and Seamus felt Hugo's thighs tense on either side of him as he fondled the delicate balls in between. 

Hugo may know how to undo Seamus with his hands, but Seamus knew how to do this: lowering his head to lave his tongue up the length of his lover's cock, he felt a surge of satisfaction as Hugo tipped his head back with a sigh. 

How natural it now felt to Seamus, to take Hugo between his lips and feel the salt and weight of him on his tongue. His fingers held Hugo's prick upright as he lowered his mouth further, the musk of the thick curls at its base and aromatic grassiness of the sweet oil filling Seamus' nose and clearing his mind of all else. The appreciative moans spilling from Hugo's mouth, the thickness of him hot and heavy in Seamus' mouth—why, there was nothing for Seamus to do  _ but _ dedicate himself to pleasuring Hugo this way.

Hugo's breaths came fast as Seamus hollowed his cheeks and sucked with fervour, producing spit-slick noises and hums almost as loud as the blood pounding in Hugo's ears. It was almost unbearable; Hugo wanted to recoil and listen endlessly all at once. His body knew better—his hands flew down to clench in Seamus' hair, holding him down. Seamus moaned wantonly in response, the vibration of it rippling through Hugo's cock. And that was it—Hugo's hips jerked upward instinctively as hot flashes of pleasure overrode his senses, his fingers tightening into fists as he came with a ragged shout.

Seamus simply closed his eyes as he felt Hugo swell and spill in his mouth, barely flinching as the tugging of his hair kept him grounded. He drank it down, relishing the culmination of his efforts. Reducing his mild-mannered partner to his most animalistic of impulses was, Seamus thought, his most favourite pastime; with such mutual enjoyment, how could it not be? He slid off of Hugo's length slowly, not wanting to discomfort him too much.

Hugo took notice and ran his thumb across the friction-red upturn of Seamus' lips, wiping some of the wetness there away. He was still catching his breath, but it turned more even as Seamus moved to settle beside him. 

It was well into the day now—the grey light had warmed through and early spring sunlight dappled the carpet. It would be a beautiful day; the wind was moving over the land, ruffling the trees and sending the rain clouds of the past few weeks far off into the distance. 

In London, the city where they met, mornings had been hurried. There was the never-ending cacophony of the street no matter how high up you were, and the stink of coal smoke never cleared from the air. No wonder Seamus felt uneasy there—it was impossible to be at peace in such surroundings. 

But now, he could certainly be at peace—or even more than that. His heart ached happily as Hugo took his hand and kissed the back of it. 

"We ought to get out of bed," Hugo suggested, though he made no move to do so.

Seamus reluctantly peeled himself from Hugo's side and he sighed, "I suppose we've kept the staff waiting long enough." A glance at the clock on the dresser revealed it was already nearly eight—it hadn't been all that long, but the downstairs would have expected them to be up half an hour ago. Slipping his arms into the dressing gown he kept at arm's reach of the bed, he tied the garment closed with a haphazard knot before giving the bell pull beside the fireplace a good tug.

Somewhere, in the bowels of the house, the bell connected to that cord rang. It signalled the beginning of their day, the start of the inevitable march onward through the meals and activities that structured their lives. There would be letters to answer, invitations to consider, and business to attend to. But as Seamus looked back to see Hugo, in his own gown, diving back into his book as he sat on the settee they'd placed by the windowsill, he knew it was all a worthy chore—if only for mornings like these.

**Author's Note:**

> Some context for any future readers: The year is 2020. It's August, and it's been three weeks since the [first demo for your game](https://www.ofsenseandsoul.com/) came out. Now that there's something out in the world of your game, you're obligated to finish it—but _god_ is it going to take a while. You need an excuse to write something fun and give your characters a little fun while you're at it. It's a characterisation exercise, right? _Riiiiight._
> 
> It's been a little while since I wrote anything remotely raunchy, but sometimes, you just have to be your own fandom. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this! <3


End file.
